The Pastoral Song

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They subjugate us in pure ecstasy
Stands on the mould and gave to me
Mental image of my brain

It took me;
From the hylomorph
Lacking form and vision
The privation you can't see

You took me;
Gave me reasons for
My form—it shall relate to the
Soul in immortal grace—and shall
Partake ta peri psychēs sake
It doth relate to the animal

Your crazy image sits and dances
For the archons as they lie here
Face to the wall, with
Half-way kings and abstractions

They dragged me;
Gave me bruises for
Making matter; what does it matter
When the water lands on my sore
Ecstasy, ti physika and
Gratify the face—let it
Pick the taste, doth procreate
Most aggravate
My mind

Archons set it free———
With abstractions! And expose the place
With all that can relate to your drawer
Filled with pottery
Take clay from the potter and set me free
From the ecstasy of this form

[2]
Leg forces kicking, lag the tibia
Down all through his knees
As they kneed and partake in
Such great names as these
Like Parmenides, like Chloe, like
Daphnus and the apple tree
He plucks the life you see
Turns and places her in a cage
Of ecstasy

Let them chirp and flirt and
Cast to the sea—
Their pastoral life! As the
Rites doth rage through Thebes
Nose point to the East, it flake
And break and tear it all apart


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